


Shoulda, Coulda, Woulda

by orphan_account



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universes, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Multiple chapters, NSFW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-04-28 18:14:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 20,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5100719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twenty things that never happened</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Index

**Author's Note:**

> I am Phan trash who has a lot of ideas, but not enough energy to turn them all into separate stories, so this is what you get. If anyone likes an AU enough, I'll considering writing something longer/more detailed. Until then, each of these are little drabbles, some longer than others.

Chapter 1: "Rain Drops in May" (AKA; The "I'm cheating on my partner for you" Universe)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Cheating, explicit sexual content, BDSM

Summary: "It's been years."

"I know."

"I'm married."

"I don't care." And suddenly, his lips are on yours all over again. 

 

Chapter 2: "Black Ink on Porcelain Skin" (AKA; The "Punk Phil" Universe)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Implied sexual content

Summary: "No, I don't have an appointment, I just wanted to see you."

"How disgustingly sappy."

"Well, I suppose that's why you're in love with me." 

 

Chapter 3: "Coffee Beans" (AKA; The "Coffee Shop" Universe)

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Swearing

Summary: "What's this on my coffee cup?"

"It's my phone number, dumbass."

 

Chapter 4: "In the Dark of Night" (AKA; The "We're neighbors and you woke me up at 4 am, what the hell man?" Universe)

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Swearing

Summary: "I don't even  _want_ to know why you have a goat in your apartment at four in the morning, just get it out of here."

 

Chapter 5: "Lollipops and Cumshots" (AKA; The "Pastel Dan is secretly (but not really) a cockslut" Universe)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, Gross Dan is gross, I felt uncomfortable writing this, seriously, it's nasty

Summary: "So the lolli's....."

"Mm-hm."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"I just always assumed you were, um,  _pure_." He snickers, his eyes crinkling and his smile lopsided. 

"You thought  _very_ wrong."

 

Chapter 6: "This is Awkward, but..." (AKA; The "Teacher/Professor" Universe) 

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, age difference

Summary: "I need to ask you a favor, professor."

You look up, locking eyes with your student, so fresh-faced and cute. You can't help but blush.

 

Chapter 7: "Scarlet Stains on my Wrists" (AKA; The "I'm struggling with mental illness" Universe)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Self harm, suicidal thoughts, mental illness, depression, schizophrenia, hurt/comfort

Summary: "Shut up! Don't touch me! I can't hear what they're saying!"

He's crying now, his hands over his ears as he rocks back and forth. 

"You can't hear what whose saying?"

"I said shut up!"

 

Chapter 8: "I Know You're Here, Please Say Something" (AKA; The "I can't get over your death" Universe)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Mentions of death, depression, denial

Summary: And so there he was, sitting in a hospital room, by the bedside of his dying lover. 

 

Chapter 9: "And There Will be no Tenderness" (AKA; The "I think I hate you, but I also love you" Universe)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: BDSM, abusive behavior, a really shitty relationship, songfic

Summary: When he grabs you, you struggle. When he kisses you, you bite.

 

Chapter 10: "These Tears Wash Down My Face" (AKA; The "Breakup" Universe)

Rating: Teen

Warnings: This is just sad, I'm sorry

Summary: He wipes his eyes quickly, trying his best not to show weakness.

"I'm sorry." His now Ex says, not really sounding sorry at all.

 

Chapter 11: "Bullet Point" (AKA; The "My boyfriend is a mob boss, and I'm weirdly okay with that" Universe)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Violence, lots of boys kissing, Dan being a smart ass

Summary: The gun feels heavy to him, awkward and out of place. He's a clean cut, British boy. He has no business with such a thing. 

"Just pull down the trigger." His boyfriend says, sounding slightly nervous. 

"I think I've watched enough crime shows to understand this." He jokes back, quickly realizing that wasn't the right thing to say.

 

Chapter 12: "Blood Stains on the Carpet" (AKA; The "I'm in love with a murderer" Universe) 

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Violence, gore, body horror, really gross sex, blood kink

Summary: He doesn't start noticing something's wrong until Dan comes home with blood on his clothes

 

Chapter 13: "Give Me the Worst" (AKA; The "I'm a sadist and you're a masochist" Universe)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: BDSM, choking, bondage, Dan getting hurt

Summary: And he's on his back, face flushed red, with his hands tied together. His neck has finger-shaped bruises starting to form. 

 

"God, it's pathetic how much you love this."

 

Chapter 14: "Write Me a Symphony" (AKA; The "Concert pianist" Universe)

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Super light and fluffy after all those heavy chapters, little kisses, shameless flirting

Summary: Listening to Dan play makes Phil fall in love with him all over again. 

 

Chapter 15: "Cigarettes and Redvines" (AKA; The "I really hate high school" Universe)

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Underage smoking, references to underage drinking, skipping class, make outs

Summary: He flicks on the lighter behind the brick wall of the courtyard, lighting his cigarette in a smooth motion.

"You should be in class." You tell him and he blows a puff of smoke from the corner of his mouth.

"And so should you." 

 

Chapter 16: "Coney Island in the Summer" (AKA; The "1950's America" Universe)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Implied sexual content, homophobic slurs

Summary: The cool diner is a nice break from the heat of the summer sun. You sip your shake as Dan runs a hand through his sweat-slicked hair

"This is my favorite song." He says finally, glancing at the jukebox in the corner. "You wanna dance?"

 

Chapter 17: "Bundle of Joy" (AKA; The "We have a child" Universe)

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Super light and fluffy, hopefully humorous, I'm giving you guys a break with this one

Summary: "So parenting. That's a thing we're doing."

"I know. This is weird."

 

Chapter 18: "Phone calls at 2am" (AKA; The "Long Distance Relationship" Universe)

Rating: Teen

Warnings: More fluff, because I'm a nice person

Summary: "I miss you, you know."

"I know. I should be back home in a few weeks, though."

 

Chapter 19: "Bootleg" (AKA; The "1920's America" Universe)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Homophobia, implied sexual content, boys kissing, illegally drinking

Summary: Dan was never one for parties, but he did like drinking, and this speakeasy had it all

 

Chapter 20: "Right Now, We're Alright" (AKA; Our Universe)


	2. Raindrops in May

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really light BDSM, but there's still bondage and choking, so yeah....

If there's one thing Phil Lester isn't, it's happily married. Of course is husband his pretty and nice and he loves Phil more than the world, but his marriage is  _boring_. There are times, especially and his worst days, the days when their fights get nasty and he has to spend the next few hours trying to scrape the rude words off the walls, that he misses his ex.

 

A short _knock_ rings through the house. Phil waits a beat. Another two knocks come. It's a pattern, he knows. It's _their_ pattern. And he doesn't need this, he doesn't need him, but he answers the door anyway.

 

His smile is lopsided, his eyes seem to sparkle, the dimple on his cheek is just as cute as Phil remembers. His breath hitches at the sight of him.

 

“Dan.” He says. It's somewhere between a question and a greeting and it makes Dan's smile widen. He steps in, a little too close for comfort.

 

“What are you doing here?” Some how, Phil manages to ask the question without stuttering.

 

“I wanted to see you.” And suddenly, he's angry. How dare he just step back into Phil's life after a year and a half without any contact? After just leaving one day, with only a post-it note to explain himself.

 

“You just show up out of the blue-”

 

“Because I wanted to talk to you-”

 

“After a year and a half of no contact-”

 

“That's kind of a long story-”

 

“And you expect me to just sit here and have a casual conversation? You have a lot of explaining to do.” Dan's quiet for a beat, his lips pressed together into a thin line.

 

“I'm still in love with you.” He says finally, making Phil's rage disappear. This couldn't be happening, not now. He sighs turning away from Dan slightly.

 

“I'm married.”

 

“I don't care.” And suddenly, his lips are on Phil's all over again, soft and warm as he presses their bodies together. Phil kisses back instinctively, forgetting the consequences and the shame and his husband all together, because this is Dan. This is the man he's always been in love with, and unfortunately, he knows nothing will ever change that. Not a husband, or a family, or a little house in Wighton that couldn't feel less cozy. And so he wraps his arms around Dan's waist and pulls him closer, tongues slipping past teeth and sliding against each other.

Kissing Dan is better than kissing his husband, he thinks, guiltily. But he doesn't stop because the kisses are hot and perfect and it's everything he's ever fantasized because it's with _him._ And as _his_ nails scrap across Phil's back, he shivers in delight because he missed _this_ . It can't be done with his husband, too sweet and gentle for anything rough, for anything Phil actually enjoys doing. But Dan- he gets it. He really _gets_ it, because he likes it, too. Because he likes the pain for pleasure, because he likes being tied to the bed post with a blind fold over his eyes, because he likes getting hurt. And every little one of his moans and whimpers drives Phil absolutely crazy.

And they break away for a moment, both breathing heavily with flushed cheeks and tossled hair. _He's pretty_ , is all Phil can think to himself, because he is pretty. They stare at each other, mouths slightly open, noses touching, and it seems sweet. Except nothing about this is sweet. Phil is cheating. The worst part is, he doesn't really care.

 

“There hasn't been anyone else.” Dan admits.

 

“Why'd you leave?”

 

“That's complicated.” Phil accepts it, for now, because all he can think about is kissing him again. So their lips collide once more, stumbling toward Phil's couch.

 

“Lube?” Dan asks, between panting breaths. Phil shakes his head

 

“It's in the bedroom. I'll go-”

 

“No.” Dan cuts him off, wrapping his arms around Phil's shoulders to hold him in place. Phil stares at him, dumb founded.

 

“That's gonna hurt.” He says and Dan shrugs.

 

“ 'S better when it hurts, anyway.” And Phil shivers because just the thought of it both terrifies and excites him. So they kiss once more as their hips grind against each other in slow, agonizing circles. The process of removing clothes is quicker and easier than with his husband because, as wrong and awful as it sounds, Dan knows him better.

He uses the tie that used to be around his neck to tie Dan's wrists together, pinning them above his head. He looks grogeous, trembling underneath him, helpless and powerless. His fingers dig into his former lovers throat, a small part of him hoping to leave bruises. Dan gasps, a sound that is often made when he's loving the pain. The sound is almost as pretty as him.

Slowly, Phil enters him, making his lover hiss and squirm because _goddammit_ they should have used lube, but now it's a little to late to go back. He removes his hands from Dan's throat to drag his nails down his stomach, creating red, aggitated lines. His hips snap up, pumping into him faster. It's the moans that get to him, not just from the thrusts of his hips, but from the biting of his nails and the scrapes of his teeth. And everything would have been absolutely perfect if, at that moment, Phil's husband hadn't come home.

 

His crying breaks Phil's heart.

 


	3. Black Ink on Porcelain Skin

It's him, all tattooed and pierced, with ink trailing up his arms to look like sleeves, little studs on the corners of his bottom lip, and his ears stretched with black disks about the diameter of his pinky finger. There's a ring in his septum, blue and metallic, and on the very tips of his black hair is just the smallest hint of faded green dye. He looks intimidating at first, with his alternative style of dress and the dragon tattoo on his neck, it was what originally made it difficult for you to start talking to him, after all. But underneath his punkish demeanor, past the ink and the holes in his flesh, there's a certain sweetness to him that drew the two of you together.

So, within nearly a year of being together -you're friends confused as to why the clean cut British boy would have so much interest in the punk such as himself- you've managed to find yourself in his tattoo parlor without an appointment. It's Phil at the counter and when he sees you, he beams. His glasses are balanced on the bridge of his nose, which admittedly, doesn't look very punk.

 

“I didn't know you had an appointment?” He phrases it more as a question than anything else. You blush ever so slightly, wondering how much he'd appreciate your attempt at a romantic gesture.

 

“Um, well, no.” You say, and his smile wavers. “I don't have an appointment. I don't really want a tattoo, I just wanted to see you.” You don't exactly look at him, meaning that your gaze falls to the metal stud by his lip in place of his eyes. You watch the corners of his mouth tilt up into a smirk.

 

“How disgustingly sappy.” He jokes at you and you let your gaze fall back on his eyes, clear and blue and pretty as the sky.

 

“Well, I suppose that's why you fell in love with me.” You say back, leaning your forearms over the counter. “Also,” You say after a moment of sending each other flirty grins and almost getting lost in his eyes. “I figured if your break is coming up, I ought to take you out to lunch.” By "take you out to lunch," you mean you want to take him home and dive into something more sexual. Phil knows this, as he smiles and looks down at his feet, biting the corner of his lip, which absolutely drives you crazy. He moistens his lips and you can't help but follow the movement of his tongue, the metal stud just barely glimmering. 

You like that stud. It adds texture to his kisses, along with other sexual endeavors. You remember the first time it happened, too. Your fingers had been entwined in his hair as his head bobbed back and forth and the flat of his tongue ran across your length. It quickly got awkward when you snapped your hips involuntarily and he gagged. You felt bad about that for weeks.

He tells you that his lunch break is coming up, but he has an appointment in fifteen minuets. You wait. It doesn't take long. The girl who came in only wanted something small and simple on her wrist, making it so Phil finished in roughly ten minutes. You drive him back to your flat, pushing him against the wall and kissing him with all the ferocity you can muster once you get inside. You're taller than him and physically stronger, so you keeping him pinned to the wall isn't a particularly challenging feat. He groans as your lips travel down his neck, making sure to bite at his most sensitive areas in an attempt to leave hickeys along his skin.

He laughs and tilts his head back to give you better access to his neck. Your scrape your teeth across his dragon tattoo and he grabs fistfuls of your shirt with a shuddering sigh. He pulls you closer and his hips move in slow circles against yours. He feels good, his body warm against your own. There's a strain on your jeans. Everything feels tight and warm and it's amazing. You can hear your own heart beat pounding in your ears as your blood rushes to somewhere below the belt. When you pull away from him, his face is flushed and his breath is heavy. His lips are red and kiss swollen and _God_ he looks so pretty.

You lead him to the bed room, hands intertwined, and when you finish making him feel good, you lay in your bed, holding each other as you press soft kisses to his forehead and cheeks. You think that maybe, just maybe, you'll get a tattoo.

 


	4. Coffee Beans

Often times, when Dan was younger and pictured how his life would be going in his early twenties, he saw himself doing something significantly more interesting and important than working a part time, minimum wage job during his final, exhausting year at university. Being a full time student while working at his job, which demanded him to get up at four in the morning so that he could make it to work by five everyday, was certainly taking a toll on him. He was beginning to find himself taking naps during lectures and blowing off certain homework assignments that he deemed “unimportant.” His grades suffered a bit, dropping from mostly A's, to mostly B's and Cs, which he wasn't the happiest about. But dammit, he was willing to sacrifice his grades for just the smallest sliver of sleep at this point.

It was around seven am, two hours into his shift, when the other boy walked in. He was cute, with black hair and clear blue eyes and a pair of thick, square glasses balanced on his nose. He was a bit shorter than Dan, a few centimeters at most, and he had a shyness to him that could be sensed from a kilometer away. Dan was, in fact, ogling at him so much that it took him a moment to realize that the man had already placed his order.

 

 _Well fuck, you've really done it now, haven't Daniel,_ he scolded himself.

 

“I'm sorry, what?” He asked, feeling his cheeks heat up. _Oh yes, great first impression. You've known the guy for a hot minute and you're already not listening to him_. The guy smiled sympathetically.

 

“No worries, I'll just have a regular black coffee, please.” _Oh God, hot_ and _polite. This is a nightmare_.

 

“Can I get your name?” He asked, his cheeks most likely on fire at this point.

 

“Phil.” He said, which Dan quickly wrote in the paper cup. It was then an idea struck him, albeit a probably stupid and risky idea, but it was an idea none the less. Looking over his shoulder to make sure a co-worker wasn't watching him, he quickly wrote out his portable's digits next to Phil's name. Granted it was quite the risk. There was always the chance that he was either straight or in a relationship, or that he just flat out wasn't interested and Dan would have embarrassed himself for the second time that day, but there was always that hope in the back of his mind that asked him

 

_What if?_

 

So he did it. He wrote out his phone number on some hot stranger's coffee cup without really thinking about it. He took precisely one minute to pour the beverage into the cup and hand it back to Phil, who stared at the arrange of numbers for a moment, looking slightly confused.

 

“What's this on my coffee cup?” He asked, his tone so cute and innocent that it made Dan grin.

 

“It's my phone number, dumbass.” And with that, Phil grins back before taking a sip of his drink.

 

“I'll keep that in mind,” He said, glancing down at the arrange of digits scribbled onto the paper. “I guess I'll see you around.”

 

 


	5. In the Dark of Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just really silly, only rated T because Dan swears twice. It's not romantic at all.

It's the goat bleats that wake you from your peaceful little slumber. Not that's you're the lightest sleeper, it's just that when there's goat noises coming from the flat next to yours at four o'clock in the morning, it becomes difficult to sleep normally. Your first thought isn't so much ' _This is_ _really fucking weird.'_ As it is  _'Dear God, make it stop.'_ But you like to think both are appropriate in this situation. You don't really know much about your next door neighbor, other than his name is Phil and that he's usually very quiet, so you suppose something either horrible or wonderful must be going on for there to be animal bleats coming from his flat so incredibly early in the morning. You think, if only for a minute, that you can ignore it. Maybe if you throw your pillow over your head and bury your face into the mattress, you can drown the sound out, but, of course, it doesn't work. 

So you get up, much to your discontent, and grumpily trudge over to his flat. You press your ear against the door, not hearing much of anything except of soft shushes and whines from the noisy little animal. You knock on the door twice and hear a quiet gasp of panic then soft footsteps. Phil pokes his head through the door. “Good morning.” Is all he says and you huff in annoyance. 

 

“Quiet the fuck down.” You say, crossing your arms over your chest in irritation. He apologizes, swearing up and down that he didn't mean to disturb you. You more or less believe him. Just as he's about to close the door and you're about to get back into your own bed, the goat pokes it's head through the door frame and let's out a particularly loud bleat. You're silent for a moment, the both of you just staring at the animal. Phil looks slightly betrayed. 

 

“I can explain.” He says and you hold up your hand, at this point too grumpy and tired to care. 

 

“I don't even _want_ to know why you have a goat in your apartment at four in the morning, just get it out of here.” Phil nods and apologizes once more. You're about to turn and leave, when you stop in your tracks, realization just dawning on you. This could be a really fantastic story to tell at dinner parties. Now you kind of want to let him explain. “You know what, I change my mind, what's this all about?” You ask him, and he smiles. 

 

“It's a long story.”

 

“Well, I've got time. You've woken me up, anyway.” He invites you inside and offers you a cup of tea. You accept his offer (Earl Grey with two cups of sugar, thank you) and take a seat on the couch, near his fire place. His flat is, of course, a similar style to yours, but the furniture is more colorful and you don't have nearly as many house plants. After a few moments, he hands you your tea, which you take graciously. 

 

“I found it.” He says and you scoff.

 

“You can't just _find_ a goat.” You say.

 

“Well I found this one. I was out by a farm in the Manchester country side when he wandered up to me and I couldn't just leave him out in the cold, so I took him back here.” There's a moment of silence as you wait for Phil to continue his story, but he doesn't. 

 

“Why were you in the countryside so early in the morning?” You ask. His face reddens a bit.

 

“I was exploring.”

 

“Exploring?” You ask, raising your eyebrows and sipping your tea. He nods

 

“Yeah. A lot happens around here after the sun goes down, and when I was a teenager my friends and I would go out at night a lot. We thought we'd keep up the tradition.” He laughs nervously, incapable of looking you directly in the eye. 

 

“So you went exploring at what two? Three in the morning?”

 

“Yeah, around then.”

 

“And stole a goat?”

 

“Basically.” You can't help but laugh as you stand up from your spot on his couch. 

 

“Okay, I think I've had my fair share of crazy for tonight. See you around, Phil.” And with that, you turn and leave, no longer feeling tired enough to go back to bed. 

 


	6. Lollipops and Cumshots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said this in the index and I'll say it again; This is really gross.

Having never talked to Dan before, one would consider him to be rather sweet and innocent. He would often wear bright, over sized, pastel sweaters with flower crowns or head bands in his hair. He had a nasty sweet tooth, often sucking on lollipops or reaching into a bag of jelly beans during class. To most, he was a fairly attractive, out going lad, who reeked of innocence. To Phil, he was something else.

He remembered the first time he ever shagged Daniel Howell, locked in the janitors closet between classes.

 

“I know you like me.” He said, making Phil flush bright red. Dan took the lolli out of his mouth with a satisfying ' _pop!'_ and he licked his lips in a way that felt less than innocent. “You can kiss me if you want to.”

 

And so Phil did. His lips were soft and tasted of vanilla chapstick and hard candy. _It's like kissing a girl_ , he remembered thinking. He also remembered being surprised at how good Dan was at kissing. He, like everyone else, seemed to assume the boy had never kissed anyone before. But his lips and tongue were skilled in such a way that they radiated experience.

It was soon that Phil was pushed into a janitors closet with Dan's lips attacking his neck and his hand pressing into the other's groin. He rubbed him through his trousers, which made Phil gasp. He quickly slapped a hand over his mouth, in fear he might be heard.

 

“Shh,” Dan whispered soothingly against his neck, as he palmed Phil through his school slacks. “We don't wanna get caught, do we?” He shook his head, keeping his lips clamped shut as Dan kissed down his body, all the way to just under his navel. Phil shuttered and raked his fingers through the other boy's hair. This was everything he'd ever imagined and the only thing holding him back was his utter shock at Dan's forwardness. Dan nuzzled his nose against the tent in Phil's pants, placing a kiss on it through the fabric. He shuddered again, trying his best not a whine. The other boy popped the button on his trousers, releasing some of the strain on his bulge. Dan looked up at him through his eye lashes, asking a silent question.

 

_Do you want me to continue?_

 

Phil gave a quick nod and Dan pulled his slacks and underwear past his hips. The boy's eyes widened in surprise. “Wow.” He whispered under his breath, glancing up at Phil again. “You're the biggest I've ever had.” It's such ridiculous statement that with anyone else, Phil would have laughed. But this was Dan, and that particular phrasing threw him off.

 

“.... How many others _have_ you had?” Dan snorted, bringing his hand up to cover his mouth as his shoulders shook from laughter. When he finally managed to compose himself again, his eyes sparkled with a certain mischievous glint.

 

“Have you ever wondered why I'm always sucking on lollipops?” He asked in place of answering the question. No, it hadn't actually occurred to Phil. He always just assumed it was because Dan had a sweet tooth and never thought much of it. But it dawned on him; He's _always_ sucking on them, and usually it's when he's staring wide eyed at another boy...

 

“So the lollis....”

 

“Mm-hm.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Yeah.” Phil is left dumbstruck, feeling as though everything he ever thought he knew was a lie.

 

“I guess I always assumed you were, um..... pure.” Dan snickered, his eyes crinkling and his smile lopsided.

 

“You thought _very_ wrong.” And with that, he ran his tongue along the top of Phil's cock, making him shiver with anticipation. He bit down on his thumb so not a make noise as Dan took him further into his mouth, running the flat of his tongue along Phil's length. He could feel himself hitting the back of Dan's throat as the other boy swallowed around him. He wished they could do this properly, in a bedroom with candles and rose petals. Somewhere more privet so that Phil could moan as loud as he wanted to, because this felt sleazy. Phil never pictured his first sexual endeavor with another person cramped in a janitors closet while ditching class with a boy he barely knew. And yet, there was a certain rush to it that Phil couldn't get anywhere else. And he _liked_ Dan, as embarrassed as he was to admit it. He had certainly pictured a situation similar to this one during the times when he was safe in his room with the door locked and his hand around his dick.

So just as he was about to release, to cum in Dan's mouth as the boy's expert tongue swirled around the head of his cock, he pulled away with a small _'pop!'_ Phil groaned and reached for his dick, wanting to finish himself off, but Dan stopped him.

 

“Cool down a little.” Dan said, soothingly. “I'm not done yet.” He winked at Phil as he stood up and turned his back to him, dropping his slacks and pressing himself against the wall. He stuck his ass in the air, open and waiting. Phil stared at him for a moment, not really sure what to do. He wasn't sure he could last long enough for what Dan had in mind. And for the first moment, he had his doubts about all this. That was, until, the other boy started fingering himself. He watched as Dan's fingers scissored inside himself, stretching his own entrance and preparing himself for Phil's length. “Phil,” He whined, turning his head back to face the boy. “You're not gonna make him finish myself, are you?” He pouts and his eyes glimmer. He wraps his hand around his own dick, pumping once, twice, and it's all too much. So Phil complies, quickly and effortlessly sliding into Dan, making him let out a loud gasp. Quickly, Phil slaps a hand over his mouth, trying his best not to get caught.

He pumps into him, every snap of his hips quick and harsh and he can hear Dan's whines of pleasure. He kissed the back of the other boy's neck, making him moan again. He didn't think he was great at this. His movements felt clumsy and awkward and he couldn't seem to find a steady pace. Dan didn't care much. He whined and moaned and when he came, his back arched in the most beautiful and twisted way. Phil followed very shortly after, spilling inside of the other boy as he bit Dan's shoulder to keep from moaning too loudly. When they pulled away and Phil managed to wrestle his pants back on, he noticed how heavy Dan was breathing. He was sure his face was just as flushed and bright red as the other's. But besides that, Dan was beaming.

 

“Holy _fuck_!” He said, his voice just barely above a whisper. Phil grinned back at him. “I needed that. _God_ , you have no idea how much I needed that.” And so Phil felt proud of himself. Dan placed a sweet peck to his lips before leaving the closet, sweater crumpled and pants with a blatant jizz stain on them.

Since then, they've been together plenty more times. They quickly transitioned from strangers to boyfriends. It became evident soon after this transition that it's nearly impossible for Dan to keep his hands off him.

 

“I just can't get enough of you.” He'd say as their kisses would deepen and his hips would roll into Phil's. Then he's throw his head back and moan. “God, I want you.”

 

When they had all the privacy they'd ever want, like when they'd rent hotel rooms during certain weekends and holidays and spent hours exploring each other's bodies, was when Phil found out what is was like to properly make love to Dan Howell. He'd moan like a porn star, telling the other to go harder, faster, deeper.

 

“Fill me up, oh God, I want you so bad.” He'd scream Phil's name when he'd come, dragging his nails down the skin of his lover's back. He'd be bent over tables, taking everything Phil could throw at him from behind as he listened to his boyfriend's foul, dirty words in his ear. The sex was good -great even. It was rough and exciting and frequent and it didn't matter how long they'd been together, they could never get enough of each other.

But at school, things were innocent. They would barely hold hands if others were around. The riskiest they ever got in front of their friends was when Dan pecked Phil on the lips to say goodbye one day. To everyone else, Dan is a sweet, innocent, little pastel child. To Phil, he's something else entirely.

 


	7. This is Awkward, But...

There's a student in the back of your lecture hall who never speaks. He sits quietly in his seat along with the hundreds of other students and takes his notes. You barely know his name. Sometimes you don't even notice he's there. Just like all of your other students. And yet, there's something about this boy that draws you to him. Maybe it's because he's absolutely stunning, which you feel weird about admitting. He's in a 101 class, after all. He couldn't be more than nineteen. And you, after being well into adulthood, really shouldn't be ogling at a nineteen-year-old. But, if you're being completely honest, you can't help it. _Anyone would admit the boy is an attractive young lad_ , you tell yourself to try and feel better. _But not everyone looks at him the way you do,_ You remind yourself.

And there's a huge part of you that does hate your attraction to him. He's so young and innocent looking. He doesn't need your attention. He probably has loads of suitors, all an appropriate age for him. But on the other hand, you remind yourself, he _is_ and adult and it's not like simply _looking_ at him is illegal. So you continue, knowing that nothing will ever happen between the two of you, and you think that's for the best. That is, until, the end of the semester is nearing. You're at your desk, inserting grades into your electronic records when he comes up to you.

 

“I need to ask you a favor, professor.” He says. You look up, locking eyes with your student, so fresh-faced and cute. You can't help but blush.

 

“What can I help you with?” You don't remember his name at the moment. You think it might be Doug or Dash, or some other name that starts with a 'D.' He shifts uncomfortably, shouldering his book bag and looking everywhere except for your eyes.

 

“I really need an A in this class, sir.” He says, finally. You furrow your brow.

 

“Remind me of your name again?” You ask and he gives a weak attempt at a smile.

 

“Daniel Howell, Professor.” You type his name into your computer, pulling up his record. You glance over his file, noticing a few missing homework assignments. Otherwise, his grade is decent, at a high C that he should be able to get up by doing well on his final.

 

“I never got your paper on the quantum mechanics.” You say finally. “But that's not exactly something I can accept late. The best you can do is study well for the final and get your grade up to a B.” Dan steps closer to you, resting a hand on your shoulder.

 

“Professor,” He says again, most of him timidness having gone away at this point. “I can't stress enough how much I _need_ an A in this class.” You swallow dryly, avoiding his gaze.

 

“There really isn't much more I can do.” You try to sound apologetic, but you think your voice wavers and you may have stuttered.

 

“Then what can _I_ do for _you_?” he asks, retracting his hand from your shoulder and resting his elbows on the edge of your desk, making his back arch, sinfully. You can't help but glance at him, his body everything you've ever wanted. But when you look back at his face, so much younger than yours, you know you can't do it. You can't take advantage of this poor boy. So you stand up and you attempt to walk out.

 

“Nothing.” You say to him, neither convincing him or yourself. You're sure your face is bright red. You feel gross, as if you rolled around in garbage. Dan steps in front of you, blocking your path to the door.

 

“Come on, professor.” He says, his grin lopsided. He runs a hand up your chest, making your breath hitch. “I want to.” He presses his thigh between your legs, rubbing smooth circles around your crotch. You let out a small groan, involuntarily. He brings his mouth to your ear and whispers. “I think you want to, too.” He runs his tongue along the spot just below your ear lobe and _shit_ , _how could he have possibly known how much you like that?_

 

“I can't raise your grade just because of this.” You tell him and then take a shaky breath. Dan shrugs and presses an open-mouthed kiss to your throat.

 

“I still want to.” He mumbles against your neck, his warm breath feeling good on your skin. His body is warm pressed against yours. He's taller than you, but he's also thinner, what with being so much younger, so you feel as though he's physically smaller. His lips are soft and warm and it's kind of like kissing a girl, but infinitely better. So you give in. You kiss him back with all the passion and ferocity you can muster and pick him up because he's light and thin and smaller than you. He lets out a squeak of surprise, which you find cute and it makes you smirk. You carry him back to your desk. He sits on the wood surface, wrapping his legs around your waist, pulling you closer.

Your noses are brushed together and you can feel his warm breath on your face. You watch his chest rise and fall with every in take of air. You see his muscles move under the thin fabric of his shirt. All you can think is, _holy shit, is he beautiful._

 

“How old are you?” You ask him and he lets out a soft chuckle.

 

“Twenty. What about you, professor?” His reply is almost snarky and you wonder is sarcasm is a second nature to him.

 

“Thirty-two.” You say. _Twelve years_ , you tell yourself. _That's a huge age gap._ “I must be awfully old to you.” He scoffs, making you furrow your brow.

 

“That's nothing,” He says, almost sounding proud of himself. “I bummed my forty-seven-year-old English teacher during my final year of secondary school because I never felt like doing my homework.”

 

“And that worked?” You ask, completely dumb founded by his story.

 

“Yeah, he put in most of my assignments as excused after that. I guess I'm a pretty good shag.”

 

“This doesn't change anything.” You say, at this point too stubborn to change his grade. He laughs again, his eyes sparkling with a certain delight that makes you melt.

 

“I guess we'll just have to wait until after, won't we?” You smash your lips to his, that cocky little shit, biting at his bottom lip and the tip of his tongue. He groans into your mouth, bucking up his hips up in an attempt to get some sort of friction. You lean forward, bracing your hands on the wood next to his hips, and he leans back. You pull his hips into yours, grinding against him. You scrape your teeth across his neck and he whines, the sound more delicious than you could ever imagine. You pop the button on his jeans, pulling down his pants and underwear. He unwraps his legs from your waist and lifts his hips to make the action easier. You wrap your hand around his cock, pumping once, then twice and he moans loudly, the sound echoing through the lecture hall.

You undo the button on your own trousers and slide your pants down your thighs. You glance back at him, asking the silent question.

 

_Keep going?_

 

He nods and you push into him with a swift motion. He yelps and shivers from pleasure as you thrust your hips into him. The desk, old and wobbly, squeaks and rocks with every movement you make. He screams when you bite down on his shoulder. You think your grunting. _Jesus_ , you probably sound like a neanderthal. He pulls you into a kiss when he comes, your lips locked together as you feel him pour out on to your abdomen. You give a few more wild thrusts and empty out inside him, letting out a short groan as you come. You pull off your shirt, which is now covered in his fluids and quickly re-button your pants. He sits up, beaming.

 

“The desk was shaking.” Is the first thing he says and you scoff, digging through your drawers for a spare shirt. “Jesus Christ, I'm gonna be walking funny.” Despite how unpleasant that sounds, his tone is excited. You finally find a white t-shirt in your bottom drawer, which really isn't the most professional thing for an educator to be wearing, but you suppose it beats a jizz-stained dress shirt. Finally Dan hops off the desk and pulls his pants back on. He presses a kiss to your cheek before leaving, calling a final good bye over his shoulder.

 

“Just think about my grade.”

 


	8. Scarlet Stains on My Wrists

_It's quite a lovely sound_ , Dan thinks the very next time he feels the blade gliding across his skin. There's something soothing about the noise of slicing skin flesh with a metal blade. There's something almost theraputic about watching all that blood run across his skin and drip onto the porcelain sink. There's something oh so calming about the sting of the wound, as he sits and waits for it to stop bleeding. It calms the ruckus in his head, keeps the voices quiet for a least a little while.

 

“ _They're not the ones telling me to hurt myself.” He shouts at his concerned lover during one of their seemingly endless quarrles._ _“_ I'm _telling me to hurt myself. They have nothing to do with it.” Instead of being angry, Phil's gaze holds nothing but worry and pity. He reaches out to touch Dan, to be comforting,_ _but his lover just slaps his hand away._

 

“ _Don't touch me!” He shouts, taking a step back from Phil and wrapping his arms around himself. “Don't you dare fucking touch me.” This he mumbles, his gaze directed at his feet._

 

He presses his thumb next to one of the cuts, drawing out more blood and he watches intently as it spills over his arm. It's a nice, deep scarlet. A color that could be smeared across the lips of a pretty girl in a white dress. Something rattles in his head, a whisper of something, telling him to hurt himself further, insisting that mutilating his skin isn't enough.

It's a figure in front of him, dragging the razor down his arm, pressing just lightly enough to make the skin sting, but not draw blood. He winces, scrunching his eyes shut and gritting his teeth. He can't look at the figure in front of him. He can feel it's thumb running up and down the latter of scars from past mutilations. It brings back the pain all over again. It whispers in his ear, putting pressure on the newer wounds, the ones that are open and fresh. It tells him things -dirty, awful, vial things that he can't stand to hear. He attempts to push the figure away because he knows that is he listens long enough, he'll give in. But it won't move. And it won't shut up.

 

“Dan!” This voice isn't coming from inside his head, but rather coming from the man holding his arm out in front of him, making the figure disperse entirely. He's gently running his thumb over the fresh wounds, his touch so light and kind that Dan almost doesn't push him away. Almost.

 

“Get the hell off of me!” He yells, making his boyfriend stumble backward. He clutches his own wrist, bringing it to his chest, smearing drops of blood on his shirt. Phil looks hurt and confused for a brief second before fading into something more stoic. He's used to this by now.

 

“I was just checking to see if you're alright.” He says, his face now completely void of any emotion. He glances back down at Dan's wrist, the blood now smeared all over his forearm.

 

“I'm _fine_.” He says, his words holding a certain bite to them that that used to make Phil wince. It doesn't anymore. 

 

“It doesn't look like it.” He snaps back, at this point completely immune to Dan's harsh words. He screams and pounds his fist against the wall next to Phil's head, mostly out of annoyance, but partly because there's a little voice in his head that tells him to. Phil doesn't even flinch. His eyes, usually so bright and cheerful and kind, are hard as stone, his mouth pressed into a thin, annoyed line. He looks so cold. So unapproachable. This was not why Dan fell in love with him.

 

“Are you gonna hit me?” He asks, almost beckoning it as a challenge. His arms are crossed over his chest, looking so closed off and reclusive. Dan's quiet, leaning into him slowly and resting his forehead against Phil's. He's content for just a moment as he listens to the sound of his own heavy breathing. Then, the voices start up, shouting inside his head. He flinches.

 

“Dan?” Phil asks, noticing his obvious physical motion. “Dan, are you alright?” His senses are overloaded between the jumble of voices inside his head and Phil's ever so concerned words in his ears.

 

“Shut up!” He shouts, stepping away from Phil, sliding down in a corner of the room. “Don't touch me! I can't hear what they're saying!” He's crying now, his hands over his ears as he rocks back and forth.

 

“You can't hear what whose saying?” Phil asks, for a moment forgetting about the voices and the delusions Dan has to suffer through constantly.

 

“I said shut up!” He shouts back. Everything is loud and awful and there are a million whispers and shouts telling him to do a million things all at once. You can't decipher any of them. Phil crouches next to him, concern and pity written all over his face.

 

“Where are your pills?” He asks, but Dan doesn't answer, instead grabbing fistfuls of his hair and pulling. So Phil looks for them himself, eventually finding the bottle of Zyprexa somewhere in the back of a kitchen cabinet. He reads the label and pours the recommended does into his hand, along with filling a glass of water. When he comes back to Dan, he's running a blade over the tops of his thighs, creating a long, jagged line of scarlet.

 

“Here,” Phil says, handing his the glass and the pills. “Take these, they'll help you.” Dan does, gripping the glass with a shaky hand and gulping down every last drop of the water. “Better?” Phil asks when he's done and Dan gives a small nod, every thing in his head beginning to quiet down. Phil slides next to him, taking Dan's hand in his own and lacing their fingers together. He presses a kiss to his boyfriend's cheek and let's his head fall on the other's shoulder.

 

And it's later that night that they find themselves in bed together, tangled up in the sheets and each other's bodies. As their sweat collides and their moans ring throughout the room in a heavenly way and he rakes his nails across the skin on Phil's back, that's when Dan feels truly at peace. It's when, for once, he's screams are a good thing.

 

 

 


	9. I Know You're Here, Please Say Something

It's the news that hits Dan like a ton of bricks. He feels like the wind is getting knocked out of him as he struggles to regain his breath. It was his receptionist who had orginally brought it up, calling his office phone, her tone sounding very grave. 

 

“ _There's..... there's someone for you on line one, sir.” She had said, her voice full of sarrow and pity. “It's very important.” Dan, being the busy person he was, originally brushed her off._

 

“ _I have a meeting in five minutes, tell them to take a message.” It_ was _quite the busy day at his law firm, after all, and he couldn't risk getting distracted._

 

“ _Sir....” His receptionist said. “It has to do with Philip.” Dan groaned, thinking his mess of a boyfriend, whom he had just fought with that morning, had managed to get himself into some horribly misunderstood mixup._

 

“ _What has that bloke managed to screw up this time?” He practically growled. She was quiet for a moment, clearly not sure what to say._

 

“ _I'll,” She trailed off, sniffling a bit. Dan raised his eyebrows, wondering what would get her so upset. “I'll just transfer the call to you.” A sense of dread dropped in the pit of Dan's stomach as he began to feel sick._

 

“ _Hello,” Said the woman on the other end. Her voice sounded sympathectic and nervous. Dan gripped the phone tighter. “I'm calling from Saint John's hospital with a bit of..... bad news.” Dan scrunched his eyes shut, feeling the bile running up his throat and listening to his breathing grow ragged. “It seems that your partner's been involved in an accident. We've put him on life support, but he isn't holding up very well-” Dan tuned out, listening to the ringing in his ears rather than the doctor on the other line._

 

“ _I'll be right there, hold on.” He made a mad dash out of his firm, telling his receptionist to cancel all his meetings and appointmets for the rest of the day._

 

And so here he was, sitting in the hospital room, by the bedside of his dying lover, listening to the drone of the machines and the careful, steady pace of the heart rate monitor. His kissed Phil's hand as he laced their fingers together. He was bloody and broken with casts on his legs, his nose falling to one side at and uncomfortable angle, and a significant cut going vertically along the right corner of his mouth.

 

“He's got a cracked sternum and internal bleeding, as well as several broken bones and possible brain damage.” The doctor said, reading off her clipboard. She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. “If you're the praying type, I'd start doing it now.” Dan remained silent, running his thumb over Phil's cheekbone and kissing his hand once more. He ran his fingers through the other's hair, feeling tears prick the corners of his eyes.

 

“Do you know what I said him last?” He said finally, not bothering to let his gaze break away from Phil. The doctor stared back at him, her eyes filled with pity. Dan scoffed and aggresively wiped a tear from his cheek. “I told him to go die. Then I went to work.” He leaned his head down, trying his best not to sob in front of her. He laughed bitterly again, letting his tears drip onto his pant legs. “It was the absolute stupidest fight we'd ever been in.” The doctor patted his shoulder in a poor and awkward attempt to comfort him. After a moment she sighed and retracted her hand.

 

“Visting hours are closing soon. You can either go home, or stay in the waiting room over night.” Dan sniffed, his grip on Phil's hand a little too tight.

 

“I'll stay, thanks.” He said, his voice cracking. And stay he did, sleeping in a waiting room chair that nightand being shaken awake the next morning by two very concerned looking nurses. So he followed them into Phil's hospital room, the only noise drowning out the ringinging in his ears was the ding of his boyfriend's heart rate monitor falling flat. The first thing he did was the throw up. The second thing he did was laugh hysterically because the only thought that went through his mind was

 

_This can't be real._

 


	10. And There Will Be No Tenderness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: There is blatant ABUSE and RAPE in this chapter. I honestly felt absolutely disgusted writing this and I by no way condone this sort of behavior, however, writing touchy and traumatic content is important for me to grow as a writer. Again, this is potentially triggering content and viewer discretion is advised. 
> 
> Also, even though it's not explicitly stated, this is in Phil's POV

It's getting shoved against the wall of your shared apartment, his lips attacking yours in a kiss that's all teeth and tongue as you struggle against his grip. It's the feeling of rage boiling in your blood after a particularly nasty fight as his hands roam your body, nail scraping across your skin. It's the burning sensation that follows all the pain you feel when he touches you, the fire that is your skin when he looks at you, the blood that rises to your cheeks when he yells at you. It's when he grabs you and you struggle, or when he kisses you and you bite.

And it's a situation that you find yourself in more regularly than you'd like to admit. It's one that you can't mention to your family and leaves your friends worried sick.  _He_ never liked your friends very much. 

 

“ _You're always with them instead of me.” He says, his voice a strange mix of anger and hurt. “Don't you love me at all?”_

 

“ _Of course I love you.” You lie. If you're being completely honest, you aren't really sure how you feel for him anymore, but you did love him at one point or another._

 

“ _Well, you're doing a damn poor job of showing it.” He says, his voice hardening as he stares into your eyes, brown on blue. You're quiet as he looks at you expectantly. You try to read him, try to guess what he wants, but you have no idea what to say. He scoffs. “Fine, be silent!” His voice is above normal speaking volume now and you're scared. Scared because he's taller and physically bigger than you, scared because he's hit you before and you don't doubt that he'd do it again, scared because you know what happens when he gets like this._

_So you go to him, try to comfort him in anyway you can, but your efforts are clearly in vain when he pushes you away, hard enough that as you hit the back of your head against the wall, you see splotches of color dance across your vision. He doesn't apologize until hours later when it doesn't feel genuine._

 

And everything hurts just as much as it always does. You hear a low rumble come from him, a growl that formed in the back of his throat when you don't reciprocate his kisses. He punches the wall next to your head, making you flinch. He pulls away from you, most of his anger having faded from his gaze. He grabs the sides of your face and forces you to look up at him. _Why does he have to be so pretty?_ You think.

 

“You belong to me, remember?” His words have a harsh bite as he hisses them out through clenched teeth. You nod and his grip on you face tightens as he pulls your head up in a rough motion. “Fucking say it!” He shouts and you clench your fists.

 

“I-” Your voice catches and you have to clear your throat and try again. “I belong to-” You pause, wondering what would happen if you disobey him. “-myself.” It's so quiet, you wonder if he heard you. At first, you think he didn't because his face doesn't change. Then, as the corners of his lips twitch into the most cruel and sarcastic smile you've ever had the displeasure of seeing, a sense of dread washes over you. He laughs, a sound that's worse than nails on a chalkboard.

 

“And where would you be without me, hm?”

 

“I-”

 

“Do you even understand all I've done for you? All the shit I've saved you from? You would be _nothing_ without me.”

 

You feel your whole body quiver when he says this. “Funny, I remember you putting me through more shit than you've _saved_ me from.” You hope your words sting. You hope he gets so mad he hits you hard enough to bruise. You hope he gives you a reason to leave. But instead, he stares at you.

 

“How _dare_ you.” His nails are digging into you now and it almost hurts. So you test your luck.

 

“You don't own me. I'm not your pet.” He slaps you, the sound of skin hitting skin seeming to ring throughout the room. You aren't even fazed anymore. He kisses you again, picking you up and basically throwing you onto the bed. You don't fight him as he practically rips off your clothing and pushes into you without any preparation. It hurts. It burns and stings and makes you cry out. You sob as you rake your nails down his back and he thrusts into you, grunting like an animal. You tell him to stop, that you don't want it -you don't want him.

When he's finished, you're crying. He doesn't hold you. He doesn't apologize, and he never will. Come tomorrow, you'll be gone.

 


	11. These Tears Wash Down My Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really short oops

He supposed that somewhere in the back of his mind, he saw it coming. He could tell his boyfriend was growing distant, what with his disinterest in intimacy and his disaccosiation with Dan's life. It was obvious by the way they fought regularly, seemingl unable to recover from their harsh words and spits of venom. But reguardless, there was always that part of Dan that convinced himself they were fine, stable, healthy -that nothing bad would ever happen to them. It was an ignorant thought.

It started with a grim look and a shakey whisper, asking for a serious chat. There was a moment of awkwardness, Phil unable to look him in the eyes as he fidgeted.

 

“I'm not happy.” He finally said, locking eyes with Dan. It was a wave of nausea that hit him next. Something that seemed to sew his lips together and paralyze his movements. So he stared and waited for Phil to continue. “I don't really think you're happy either.” There's another awkward pause as Phil's voice trails off and the eye contact break.

 

“What's your solution then, genius?” He can't help the snark in his tone. He's sinfully sarcastic in the exact wrong situation and he knows that'll bite him in the ass later on. Phil looks hurt. He swallows thickly before continuing.

 

“I guess it's to quite while we're ahead.” It's a nuclear bomb that drops on to their living room carpet. Dan can feel the tears prick at his cheeks.

 

“Wha-” He chokes and wipes his eyes quickly, trying his best not to show weakness. “What are you saying?” Phil sighs.

 

“I'm saying I don't love you anymore.” It stings and makes his eyes burn and his heart feel heavy. “I'm sorry.” His now ex says, not sounding particularly sorry at all. For a moment, Dan pictures him with someone else. A girl this time, one who's blonde and pretty and quite a bit shorter than him. A girl who's out going and confident and everything that Dan aspires to be, but just can't obtain. And so he feels heavy and light all at once as the tears wash down his face in his one true moment of weakness. He must look pathetic.

 

 


	12. Bullet Point

Love was a dangerous thing, Dan had decided. Something dangerous and strange and all too vulnerable and there was nothing he could do to stop that. Maybe if he had chosen a partnership with someone more normal -more vanillia- his personal love affairs wouldn't be so dangerous and scary, but he really didn't mind. Maybe he should have, but quite frankly, he didn't mind the danger. His life had become so different because of Phil, but it wasn't exactly in a bad way. 

It started in a cool afternoon in April. A single ray of sunlight had been peaking through the vast amounts of clouds and a low rumble of thunder sounded across the streets. There was nothing irregular about the start of that day, what with Dan waking up at noon and placing himself in his usual browsing position on the couch, his laptop in his lap and his chin tucked to his chest. His boyfriend wasn't home, which had become a regular thing. Phil would be out for hours, days, sometimes even weeks, and it had never bothered the other. So he stayed in his lazy position for the majority of the day and didn't even realize how much time had passed until he heard their front door open. He glanced at the clock, seeing that it was almost two in the morning. He heard muttering voices as two pairs of feet made their way upstairs.

 

“-you promise he's not?”

 

“-won't suspect a thing-”

 

“-Must be a pretty dense bloke, if I've ever heard o' one.”

 

A lump formed in Dan's throat as he recognized one of the voices to belong to his boyfriend. His face felt hot from a mix of anger and embarrassment. Phil was _cheating_ on him, he was sure of it. Why else would he bring a strange man to their house in the middle of the night. And as he heard their voice draw nearer, he dove behind the couch, suddenly too awkward to confront him. They waltzed into the living room, giving Dan a good look at the other man.

 

_He's not even fucking attractive,_ he thought, bitterly. The man was most likely in his late forties, with graying hair and a pot belly that was probably from drinking too much beer. He glanced at Phil, whose face was much too serious to be the silly boy Dan knew and loved. In his hands, he was clutching a breifcase. The older man looked around the living room and let out a low whistle. 

 

“So this is your place, eh?” He had a thick scottish accent that made Dan cringe. Phil nodded and wrung his hands together. Dan expected them to start kissing, for Phil to grab the scottish man and push him against a wall. But he didn't. Instead, his face hardened and he set his breifcase of the couch, snapping open the latches. Dan attempted to see what was inside, but his vision was blocked by the scotsman's body. He whistled again.

 

“Ain't that a bit much for what I'm givin' you?” Dan felt his face flush in anger.

 

_It's fucking prostitution,_ He told himself.  _He brought a breifcase of money into our house and he's soliciting a nasty, scottish prostitute._

 

“I never met a dealer who asked for less money.” He said, glaring at the man. “And _hush_ , my boyfriend's asleep and he doesn't know about this.” 

 

“What do you need all this smack for, anyway? You don't seem like the type.” The man commented. Phil glanced back down at the briefcase, which Dan was now sure was full of money.

 

“I'm not.” He said, quietly. “It's not for me.” He glanced back at the man, a scowl on his face. And Dan watch in horror as his boyfriend, his sweet, kind, loving boyfriend, pulled a gun out of the holister clipped to his belt. He had to cover his mouth to keep from gasping. Phil pointed the gun to the man's forehead. “Speak of this to no one.” He said, his voice deadly serious. The man nodded, beads of sweat beginning to form on his forehead. It was the next morning when Dan finally spoke of the comotion from the night before. 

 

“When did you get a gun?” He asked, making Phil look up from the newspaper looking slightly nervous.

 

“What are you talking about?” He asked, trying to steady his voice in an attempt to remain casual. He took a sip from his coffee, his hand jittering. Dan scooted his chair closer to Phil and rest his hands on top of his boyfriend's.

 

“I saw you with that scotsman last night. We'll talk about the fact that you were buying a breifcase full of money's worth of cocaine later. But for now, I'd like to know where the hell you got a gun.” Phil's face flushed bright red as his blue eyes widened in terror.

 

“I... bought it.” He said, his voice barly above a whisper.

 

“Bullshit!” Dan shouted, standing up so abruptly , his char topple over. “This isn't America, Phil! You can't just find an MK-47 at your nearest convient store!” Phil sighed and stood up, placing his hands on Dan's shoulders, his gaze intense and way too serious.

 

“Okay, okay, fine. Just calm down.” Dan's face sofend and he gave a single, quick nod. “I'm kind of involved in this thing. And it's sort of a bad thing, but I like it and I don't want to stop.”

 

“What kind of thing is it?” Dan asked quietly, not tearing his gaze away from Phil's.

 

“I, uh...” His boyfriend stammered and quickly looked away from him. “I may or may not be part of a British mafia.”

 

And so it began. As time went on, Dan seemed to find himself getting involved with the mafia, as well. It began with Phil teaching him how to shoot a gun. It had felt awkward and heavy in his hands, a foreign object that he had no buisness holding.

 

“Just aim at your target and pull down the trigger.” Phil said, sounding slightly nervous.

 

“I think I've watched enough crime shows to know how to fire a fucking gun.” He joked back, quickly realizing it wasn't the right time to be a smart ass. But he got the hang of firing a bullet fairly quickly, leaving Phil impressed and a few of the other members mildly horrified.

He liked the power that came with holding a gun. There was something satisfying about having that much control over life or death. Maybe that was sadistic, maybe psychotic, but he didn't much care. He was glad Phil had introduced this side of him to the world.

And without having to go through some sort of initiation, Dan became a member. They had a warehouse on the outskirts of London, they type of thing no one would ever notice, where they would regularly meet. Phil had his own office, being a supierior to many of the other mobsters. Dan was the only one who was allowed in and they would often spend they afternoons captured in kisses on Phil's desk that were all teeth and tongue.

There were times when Dan would be sitting on the desk, his legs wrapped around his boyfriend's waist and his lips on the other's neck. Phil would be palming his groin, giving his dick light squeezes that drove him absolutely wild. And one of their shirts would be gone and the other would have his belt undone and they'd both be panting and flushed, like a couple of teenagers. So they would kiss again and it was usually Dan who would bite Phil's lip, making the other hiss.

It was beautiful, he decided. A beautiful, dangerous, wonderful life that Phil had laid out for the both of them.

 


	13. Bloodstains on the Carpet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING  
> 1\. This is disgusting and I'm sorry  
> 2\. There are mentions of necrophilia

He didn't start noticing something was wrong until Dan came home with blood on his clothes. It was around three in the morning, which had always been a usual time for his boyfriend to come home, being the night owl that he is. Usually, Phil would be asleep when Dan came home, being the opposite of a night owl and usually crashing on the couch at around eight thirty while either Buffy or some painfully British show was playing on the television. And that was something along the lines of what happened that night, although this time, the creaking of Dan's footsteps awoke him. And he was met with quite the sight.

He actually smelled it before he saw it. It was a heavy scent of iron and something that may have been rotting meat. He could make out Dan's form in the dark, but not much else. The fact that he wasn't wearing his glasses didn't help either. 

 

“Is that you, or am I face to face with quite the handsome murderer?” Phil asked jokingly as he attempted to rub the sleep out of his eyes. Dan scoffed and his figured shifted.

 

“It's just me. Dissappointed?” He could practically hear the smirk in Dan's words, making his grin grow wider. 

 

“Are you going to join me for bed?” Phil asked, then let out a long yawn, as if to prove just how tired he was. 

 

“I have to shower first. I fell in the mud on my walk back and now I'm sticky.” Phil nodded and attempted to get up from the couch, but some how managed to stumble over his own two feet and trip. Dan caught him, their faces an inch or so apart. Impulsively, Phil gave him a quick peck on the lips. The kiss was without a doubt, one of the strangest sensations he had ever expirienced. His boyfriend's lips were sticky, indeed, but it wasn't mud that coated them. It was something else. Something more metally. He licked his lips, trying to get a taste of the substance once again. It was familiar, oh so familiar, but he couldn't seem to put a name to it. He flipped the lightswitch nearest to him and was met with nothing but red.

It wasn't a plesant red, either. It was rich and scarlet and  _ everywhere _ . Dan was covered in it from head to toe. There were chunks of  _ something _ on his clothes. They looked to be vaugly flesh colored under all that red, but who could tell. 

 

_ Iron. _ Phil thought.  _ Blood. _

 

He felt sick to his stomach. There was nothing but blood everywhere. Drops of it were hitting the carpet. Pieces of skin -skin that wasn't Dan's- were hanging off of his boyfriend's clothes. Blood splattered his face, his jeans, his hair,  _ Phil's lips.  _ He felt another wave of nausea hit him like a ton of bricks. The bile that rose up in his throat, threatened to escape his esophagus. His jaw quivered as he spoke, taking a step away from his boyfriend. 

 

“Please tell me this sin't what it looks like.” His voice was shaky and broken and tears formed on the corners of his eyes. Dan slowly ran his tongue over his lips, catching some of the drops of blood. 

 

“It is.” Phil had to cover his mouth to keep himself from vomiting. 

 

“Are you the one who's been on the news?” He asked, his whole body trembling. “Is this why you come home so late?” Dan gave a quick nod and Phil had to squeeze his eyes shut to keep from crying. 

 

“Why?” He asked, his voice barley above a whisper. Dan shrugged casually. Too casually. 

 

“I like the power.” He said. “I like being able to control life and death. I like hearing the screaming. And the blood.” He glanced at Phil, the corners of his lips tilting up into a smirk. “It's fun, you know. Watching someone blood splatter onto the pavement. Hearing their begs for mercy. Knowing you could've stopped -could've saved them- but you didn't.” He took a step closer to Phil, so close that he had him pinned against the wall. He leaned down to Phil's ear, his voice at a whisper. “I feel like God. Have you ever felt like that before? So powerful, so important. It's exhilarating.” He nuzzled his nose into the spot below Phil's earlobe, leaving a blood stained kiss there. Phil shivered mostly in disgust, but partly in anticipation. 

 

“Who do you go after?” It was so quiet, he couldn't even hear his own voice. But Dan smirked and rested his hand just next to Phil's head. 

 

“No one important, really. Just prostitutes, drug dealers, bums. People no one will miss or care about.” He leaned in closer to Phil, the tips of their noses brushing against each other. “Have you ever fucked a dead body? Someone who can't move or fight back. A vessel for you to toy with until your done and you can do whatever you want with? Have you ever used blood as lubricant? It's sticky and warm and works so well.” 

 

“You're sick.” Dan scoffed and glanced away from him for a moment. 

 

“You tasted it. When you kissed me, you tasted the blood on my lips. Don't say you didn't love it.” And Phil had to stop and think. He didn't _love_ it, but he didn't hate it either. As a matter of fact, he wasn't repulsed enough by it to object to tasting it a second time. 

 

“Who's blood was it?” He didn't want to know, not really, but he couldn't stop the question from escaping his lips. 

 

“Some skank in an alley, giving away her body for about twenty five pounds.” Twenty five pounds. She was murdered, and she only got twenty five pounds. 

 

“A girl? Did you....?” _Have sex with her?_ It was a question he couldn't force himself to ask. Dan snorted. 

 

“I like girls. They're curvy and pretty and physically smaller. Their bones are easier to snap.” Once again, Phil felt the need to vomit. 

 

“Are you going to kill me now?” He asked, his voice trembling badly. He felt a tear slip down his cheek, which Dan gently brushed away. He shook his head and cupped Phil's cheek in his hand, leaving streaks of blood on his alabaster skin. 

 

“What's stopping you?” He asked. 

 

“How much I love you. That I like having you around. How when you hold me, your body is warm and when I rest my head on your chest, I can hear your heartbeat. I love that more than anything.” Finally, Phil allowed himself to lean into Dan's touch. 

 

“I love you, too.” He said softly, letting his eyes flutter closed. There was a moment of silence as everything felt normal, at least for a moment. Until Phil spoke again, and the words he said next, he's regret for the rest of his life. 

 

“You said you use blood as lube?” Dan looked baffled for a second before nodding sharply. “Can you show me?” The corners of his mouth twitched twice before settling on an amused smirk. Their lips collided, Dan's teeth grazing across Phil's bottom lip and his tongue asking for entrance. Phil opened his mouth, tasting the cold, metallic blood on the tip of his tongue. It was wrong, but not disgusting.

Their bodies pressed together, hot and close and sticky, and Dan rolled his hips into the other's, making him moan. Phil grasped at Dan's shirt, tearing it over his head. His torso was clean and beautiful and Phil roamed his hands over it appreciatively. He scratched his nails down the skin, leaving red, agitated lines, and making his boyfriend moan. Dan moved his lips to Phil's neck, sucking on the skin and hoping to leave a bruise. A mark, to claim him and to tell the world  _ “Dan was here.”  _ Clothes were discarded quickly, leaving bare skin pressed against bare skin as they were locked in a heated kiss. 

 

“Need to taste you.” Dan said between kisses, making Phil flush bright scarlet. He kissed down the other's torso, getting on his knees in front of him. He cupped Phil through is boxers, palming his growing bulge and making him moan. He placed an open-mouthed kiss just below Phil's belly button and whispered “Hold on,” against his skin. He scooted over to his jeans and fished a pocket knife out of the back pocket. “Can I try something?” He asked,his eyes filled with so much false innocence. Phil nodded, making Dan's smirk grow wide. He sliced a cut down Phil's thigh and watched at the red substance leaked out of the fresh wound. Phil hissed at the sting of the blade cutting through his skin, but let out a mewl as Dan ran his tongue along it, catching the blood. 

His mouth now coated with the sticky substance, he pulled down Phil's boxers, taking his boyfriend's length into his mouth. He bobbed his head, coating Phil's dick with the sticky, metallic blood. Phil moaned and bucked his hips into Dan's mouth, making the other hold him in place. Dan swirled his tongue around the head of Phil's cock and ran it along the side of his length. He pulled away quickly, his mouth making a quiet  _ pop. _

 

“ _Dan._ ” Phil whined, making Dan shiver. He stood up, pressing his body into the other's. 

 

“Same my name again, baby.” He said, his voice low and husky and it made Phil flush bright red. 

 

“ _Dan_.” He breathed out, as the other's lips attacked his neck. Quickly, he cut his own wrist, squeezing the droplettes of blood onto his own dick. He gave it a few pumps to spread the blood around. He used the rest of it to coat his fingers as he pressed them into Phil's enterance, scissoring and thrusting them. Phil wrapped his legs around Dan's waist and hoisted himself up against the wall. Their lips met one more time as Dan slowly pushed into him. He snapped his hip once, twice, until he found a good rhythm. Phil bit into Dan's shoulder to keep from crying out. It burned, just so slightly, but he felt amazing. He let out a loud gasp as Dan brushed by his prostate. 

“Fuck. Right there.” He panted and his boyfriend obeyed, hitting it this time. He could feel himself tremble as an orgasm washed over him, his fluids being emptied out over Dan's stomach. His boyfriend followed soon after, coming inside of him. For a moment, everything was okay, but come morning, Phil knew he'd have to report his fucked-up serial killer of a lover. 

 

Not that he was much better. 

 


	14. Give Me The Worst

He's beautiful, all covered in love bites, his wrists rubbed raw from rope burn, his face flushed and panting. When he's naked, his thighs peppered with bruises from Phil's touch and his hands tied behind his back -when he's open and ready and begging for more, more,  _ more-  _ that's when he's at his prettiest. 

They hadn't really talked about it -not at first, anyway. It wasn't long into their relationship that their kisses turned into bites. And then soon after that, their sweet, cooing words, turned into harsh, biting insults. Requests became demands, moans became screams. They  _ loved _ it, the both of them. So they soon explored new things, the kinds with ropes and choking and rude terms being thrown around. They had a word to cry out when things got to be too much, but they never used it. Not even once. It was mutual, these antics of theirs. Outside the bedroom, they were cuddly and kind and there was no hitting or venomous words, but underneath the sheets, it was something else. And not one loved it more than the other. 

Occasionally, desire would spark in undesirable situations, like when they were with friends and Dan would throw his head back and laugh and Phil's hands would itch to give his throat a squeeze. Like when Dan would have rug burn on his knees and bump them into a corner in a supermarket or brush by a bus seat and let out an involuntary moan. And  sometimes they couldn't wait to get home, so they'd lock themselves in the nearest bathroom and spit foul words as they dove into their own pleasure. Twice, others heard. Twice, they didn't care. 

But in their own bedroom, they could be as loud as they pleased. Dan could scream high enough for the sound to bounce off every surface of their house. Phil could murmur all the nasty, rude words he wanted without the risk of anyone finding out. 

 

“You're such a filthy little cockslut, aren't you?” He'd ask as he towered about a flushed, sweaty Dan perched on his knees, ready to take Phil's cock in his mouth. “Do you want it?” He'd look pointedly at his boyfriend.

 

“So much.” Dan would moan, his eyes clouded with desire, making Phil snap and thrust into his mouth. Dan gagged, he always gagged, but never asked to stop, never pulled away, always enjoyed. And Phil could feel him swallow around his length, as his tongue ran up the side and his head bobbed. Quickly, Phil would pull away, making Dan let out one of those whimpers that they both knew he could never fake. And so Phil would place his foot on Dan's chest, kicking him hard enough to make him stumble, to make him bruise, but not to make him break. And he'd be on his back, face flushed red, with his wrists tied together. He would have hand-shaped bruises starting to form on his throat. That's how it always went. Today was no different. 

 

“God, it's pathetic how much you love this.” Phil says with a sneer and Dan moans again. 

 

“Hurt me, give me the worst.” He says, his voice low as he throws his head back, giving Phil full access to his neck. He crawls over Dan, their faces kissing distance apart. 

 

“Who do you belong to?” He asks and Dan reaches up, attempting to kiss him. Their lips aren't even an inch apart and Phil can feel the heat radiating off of the both of them. He can feel Dan's warm lips brush against this own in something that's not quite a kiss, not just yet. 

 

“You.” Their lips meet in a heated, rough kiss that's all bite and teeth and hate. “I want you.” Dan says between kisses. “I want you so bad. Please, Daddy, please fuck me till I'm raw and open. Make me your little slut.” Phil has to keep himself from laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of the statement, because as much as he loves Dan's words, they aren't exactly true to character. He gently caresses Dan's cheek, then runs his finger down the side of his throat. 

 

“How do you want me?” He asks, his voice cocky. He runs his thumb over Dan's adam's apple, making the other shiver in delight. 

 

“Make it hurt.” 

 

And he does, thrusting into Dan's entrance without preparation, without lube. And it stings and it burns and it makes tears come to Dan's eyes because  _ it hurts so fucking much _ . But he couldn't love it more. 

 


	15. Write Me a Symphony

Music is the biggest part of Phil's current relationship. It was a mutual love of both Muse and Fall Out Boy that brought the two of them together. It was at a party, the kind with too much drinking and too much music. They talked about bands for hours, and it was the best party Phil had ever gone to.

Then it was the concerts. Not the types of concerts where they bought tickets together and sang along to the songs -although they did do that- but the kinds in symphany halls, where everyone is in tuxedos and evening gowns and you sit in plush chairs as the orchestra comes to life. And Phil sits alone in these concerts because Dan is always up on stage, his fingers dancing along the ivory keys, looking happier than Phil has ever seen him before. He's dressed to the nines, in his suit jacket and his piano themed tie. He's beautiful.

So Phil started watching from the wings, in his jeans and his t-shirts and letting Dan's music wash over him. It's beautiful, all of it, and he just can't seem to get enough. When the concert is over and people begin filing out of the auditorium, after Dan's taken his bow and he's begun heading back stage, they meet in an embrace. Phil kisses his cheek, and then his forehead.

 

“How was it?” Dan asks when they pull away. He looks so nervous, so hopeful, it's adorable.

 

“It was amazing.” Phil responds, cupping Dan's cheek in his hand. “It's always amazing.”

 

“I messed up a lot.” He says, glancing down at his feet. Phil shakes his head.

 

“You were perfect.” They kiss for just a moment, not giving their lips time to linger and Dan takes Phil's hands in his. Their fingers lace together slowly and he peaks around the curtain to make sure no one is left in the hall.

 

“We had to cut the concert short, so I didn't get to play my favorite song.” He says, pouting ever so slightly. “But I'd love to play it for you, here.” Phil nods and let's Dan lead him back onto the stage. He sits at the piano, then proceeds to pop his knuckles before lightly placing his fingertips on the keys. He takes a single glance at the music in front of him before he starts to play, managing to get through a minute of the song before glancing back at the music again. He cuts off before it's over, placing his hands in his lap and looking up at Phil expectantly. “It's not really the same without the accompaniments.” He says. “But I like the piano part.”

 

“You take my breath away.” Phil says, placing his lips on to Dan's in what is just a ghost of a kiss. They pull away after a moment, this time having let the kiss linger just a bit. Phil loves music, but he loves his boyfriend more, and listening to Dan play makes Phil fall in love with him all over again.

 


	16. Cigarettes and redvines

Puff after puff of smoke came from behind the brick wall of the school. It was the smell of nicotine and tabacco that seemed to sting the inside of Phil's nostrils as he walked along the cobblestone. It was somewhere between the very earliest hours of the morning and lunch. Dew was still stuck to the finely cut grass and the sun was still high in the strangley cloudless sky, but they day had begun to warm up. Over his uniform shirt was drapped a thin, gray sweater, just warm enough to protect him from the slight April chill. It was a fairly nice day, what with it being England and all. There were bright rays of sunshine peaking through the white, candy floss that was the clouds. The smoke, which was becoming more and more obvious that it was from a cigarette, did nothing but dampen the beauty of the day.

Phil turned a corner to face the source of the smoke. He was met with another boy, someone younger and taller, with a messy brown fringe and equally brown eyes. They stare at each other long enough for Dan's cigarette to burn out. He quickly pulls out another. He flicks on the lighter behind the brick wall of the courtyard and lights his second cigarette in a smooth motion.

 

“You should be in class.” Is all Phil manages to get out of his mouth. Dan blows a puff of smoke from the corner of his mouth. He looks like someone on an album cover, all slouched against the wall with the top three buttons of his uniform shirt undone.His eyes are bored, dead even, as he stares at Phil with absolutely no emotion.

 

“And so should you.” He says and takes another drag from his cigarette. “I know why I ditched, but what's your story?”

 

“You weren't in class and I got worried.” Dan takes a moment to stare at the sky, his head lolling slightly to the side and the beginnings of a smirk playing on his lips. He blows out a long puff of smoke and runs his tongue over his lips. Finally, his eyes go back to Phil's.

 

“What kind of trouble do you expect me to get into?” He asks and Phil is taken aback.

 

“Well, you're smoking for one. What exactly do you expect to get out of that?” He asks, making Dan's lips twich.

 

“Class.” He says and flicks away the cigarette. “My own head.” He stares down at it for a moment, before stepping on it and twisting his foot.

 

“Would you rather have lung cancer than be sitting in class?”

 

“Much rather.”

 

They stare at each other for a moment -blue on brown, intensity on void.

 

“And while we're on the topic of your health, you ought to stop guzzling alcohol every night. You know it's not good for you.” Dan's smile widens into something shark like and menacing. His eyes are cold now, full of something brutal and cool. At least it's not dead.

 

“Why do you care so much?” He asks.

 

“Because I don't want you dead.” Phil responds. Dan's smirk completely fades, leaving his scowling and spiteful.

 

“Sucks to what you want.” He practically spits, pulling another cigarette out of the pack. He's getting touchy, Phil realizes. He doesn't really care. He wathces as Dan struggles to flick the lighter on, almost growling in frustration. Phil steps closer to him, placing his hands over Dan's to steady him. They stare at each other a moment longer and when he speaks next, Phil's voice is just above a whisper.

 

“Do you know what you need?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Therapy.”

 

He half expects Dan to get angry and push him away, but instead he snorts and pulls Phil closer. He drops the lighter and spits the cigarette out of his mouth before pressing their lips together. The kiss lingers and Phil drops his book bag and wraps his arms around Dan's neck. His hands rest on Phil's hips and they press their bodies together, letting the kiss deepen. When he feels Dan's tongue swip across his bottom lip, Phil opens his mouth instinctively and lets Dan's tounge explore his mouth. Phil's fingers play with the little hairs on the back of Dan's neck, lightly pulling. When they pull away, they're still wrapped together, smiles big and cheeks flushed.

 

“You taste like smoke.” Phil teases, making the other boy scoff. Then, his lips are on Phil's neck, biting lightly at his skin and making him sigh.

 

“I can't get enough of you.” He mumbles and Phil laughs.

 

“That's cheesey.” He says and Dan pulls away from his neck to peck him on the lips.

 

“You love it.”

 

“Mm-hm,” Phil hums, his gaze half-lidded and lazy. “I love _you_.” Their lips meet again for another slow, lazy kiss. “Which is why,” Phil mumbles against Dan's lips “I hate what you do to yourself.” Dan sighs and drops his head on to Phil's shoulder.

 

“I love you.” He mumbles, quiet as a mouse. Phil runs his fingers through Dan's hair and peppers kisses along the top of his head.

 

“Do you want some red licorice?” He asks because, honestly, that's the only thing he can think of to say. He smiles bright when Dan nods his head.

 


	17. Coney Island in the Summer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Use of the Q-slur

It was July, 1953, on the board walk of Coney Island. The air was thick and hazy and there was a sweltering heat surrounding the city. But it was the middle of a fair, the kind with singing and juggalers and all sorts of other talents that the people wanted to see. It was worth putting up with the heat, at least for a little while longer. The fair was filled with young couples, pretty blonde girls in bright pink poodle skirts and their boyfriends, who were mostly clad in old, woren jeans and white t-shirts. There were teenagers, groups of friends spending time together and trying not to think about their responsbilities, and middle aged mothers with their children, playing carnival games and riding merry-go-rounds. And then there were the two boys.

They were young, both in their twenties with dark hair and pretty eyes. One was taller than the other, his brown fringe pushed back to stay out of his face and his t-shirt sleeves rolled up to his shoulders. He towered above most everyone by almost a full head. The other wasn't quite as tall, but he still stood out. On the bridge of his nose were a pair of thick spectacles and his black hair was styled meticulously.

When a little while longer came around and the boys had grown tired of the heat and the crowd, they stopped in a diner for a shake. The waitress was a lovely young lady, around college age, with curly brown hair and painted red lips. She smiled at them and ushered them to a booth in the corner of the diner. 

 

“My I get your name?” She asked the brown haired boy, her accent thick and southeren. 

 

“Danny Howell.” He said, taking her hand in a firm grip to shake. She giggled, her cheeks dusted with a pink tinge. 

 

“I'm Dotty Darling and it's a pleasure to make your acquantince.” She said, her tone flirty. “And yours?” She asked, turning to the other. 

 

“Philip,” He said, refusing to make eye-contact. “Lester.” He managed to stutter out as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “My name is Philip Lester.” She gave him a sympathectic smile before handing them their menus and turning to walk away. “The waitress was flirting with you.” Phil said quietly, once she was out of ear shot. Dan gave a cocky grin and leaned back into the booth, resting his arms on either side of the seat. 

 

“Don't tell me you're jealous.” He said, making Phil grin and shake his head. 

 

“I just think it's funny, is all.” Soon, the waitress came back, ready to take their orders. She turned to Dan first, offering him a bright smile that he couldn't have noticed less. 

 

“Is there anything I can get for you two?” She asked. 

 

“Nothin' for me, today, sugar.” He jestered to Phil, his grin wide. “But my friend over here wants a chocolate shake and a pile of fries, think you can do that?” She galnced quickly at Phil, but turned her attention back to Dan. 

 

“Not a problem, honey.” She said. Before she left, she placed her hand on Dan's shoulder and gave it a squeeze, throwing a wink over her shoulder. He beamed back. 

 

“You ought to be careful.” Phil said, once she had left for the second time. “Girls are strange things. They think that anyone who smiles is flirting.” Dan snorted and shook his head, taking a cigarette out of his pack. He lit it in a smooth motion and took a long drag. 

 

“I don't mind a little flirting.” He said, letting the smoke escape his mouth. “I just hope you remember that this date is for you.” He reached over the table and took one of Phil's hands in his own, rubbing his thumb over the back of it. 

 

“And there's another thing; I can't believe you took me out on a date in public. Don't you remember what happened last time?” Dan waved off his comment and sat back in his chair. 

 

“Sucks to last time. That was way back in Louisiana, baby. People here are different, much more liberal.” Phil rolled his eyes, leaning his elbows on the table top. 

 

“I hope you're right.” Their waitress came back after a few moments, carrying a tray of food. 

 

“Here we are, a chocolate shake and a basket of fries -oh deary me!” She exclaimed, her face filled with false surprise. “Well I certainly have messed up, now haven't I? I brought a whole 'nother shake you never ordered.” She glanced at Dan, blue eyes wide and innocent. “I s'pose I could give it to you on the house.” Dan smirked back, running his teeth over his bottom lip. 

 

“Well, I can't argue with a free shake.” When she left, the two were quiet for a moment. In all honesty, it was refreshing. The cool diner was a nice break from the heat of the summer sun. Phil sipped his shake as Dan ran a hand through his sweat slicked hair, pushing back his fringe even more. 

 

“This is my favorite song.” He said finally, glancing at the jukebox in the corner of the building. “Do you wanna dance?” He raised his brows in something that was almost a plea. 

 

“Do you really think that's such a good idea?” Phil asked, glancing around the room nervously. 

 

“I don't think it'll hurt no one.” And so they danced, twirling and laughing to the music in such an enticing way that they forgot they weren't alone and Dan placed a small peck to Phil's lips, making him go tomato red. 

 

“Sir's,” Said the voice of their waitress from behind them. It was then that a sense of dread filled the pit of Dan's stomach and he realized he made a horrible mistake. “I'm,” She paused to swallow thickly and glance around the room. Some of the customers were staring. “I'm going to have to ask you to leave.” 

 

“Why?” Dan countered. “We haven't done anything.” 

 

“Well, it's just,” She twiddled her thumbs awkwardly and refused to meet his eyes. “We don't let queers into our diner, you see. You folk corrupt the children and this is a family place.” Dan let out a humorless laugh, filled with bitterness and resentment. 

 

“Oh, am _I_ corrupting the children? How exactly am I doing that, ma'am? By being in a healthy relationship? By showing my partner affection, just like any straight person can do?”

 

“Dan-” Phil warned, placing his hand on the other man's bicep. He quickly tore it away. 

 

“You people are all the same, trying to act all high and mighty.”

 

“-you're just making it worse.”

 

“Every last one of you is exactly the same, all bigoted and pretentious, tryin' to act like your better than me.”

 

“Please, let's just go.” Dan glanced around the room, his gazed having turned into a scowl. 

 

“Fine,” He said, finally. “I can see where I'm not wanted.” 

 

When they got home, locked away in their little apartment in the heart of Brooklyn, that was when Dan got angry. Well, angrier, at least. He punched a wall, his fist going through the plaster and Phil flinched. There was a moment of quiet, with nothing but the heavy sound of breathing.

 

“Baby-”

 

“They treat us like we're the scum of the Earth, like we don't matter. It's not fucking fair.” Dan yelled turning to face the other man. “Just because we're different we get thrown to the floor. It's just like back then.” He was breathing heavily, his face getting red as his chest heaved. 

 

“That's not true.” Phil muttered. “Back then, were we called a lot worse. We were screeched at and got attacked just for holding hands in public.”

 

“People still hate us.” 

 

“But at least they're not violent.” 

 

They were quiet for another moment, the tension in the room only seeming to grow. Dan was trembling from anger, frustration, rage. Phil was trying not to say the wrong thing. He didn't pull away at first when Dan smashed their lips together in a kiss that was nothing but boiling anger and was the farthest from tender as possible. At first, he kissed back, and when Dan's tongue asked for entrance to his mouth, Phil complied. He drew the line, however, when Dan's hands began to wander up his shirt. That's when he stopped. 

 

“Come on, baby,” Dan whined, trying to pull him closer. “Please, I need you so bad.” 

 

“You don't need _me_ ,” Phil corrected, pushing him away. “you need a distraction, and I'm the closest thing in reach.” Dan stared at him for a moment, confusion written all over his face. 

 

“You can't honestly be mad at me for this.” He said, sounding hurt. 

 

“I'm not mad, I'm just sad and upset and I don't want to be intimate right now.” Dan scoffed and pushed his was past Phil, toward the front door. 

 

“Where are you going?” He asked.

 

“You said I need a distraction, so I'm getting one.” Dan grumbled, slipping his shoes on.”

 

“Danny-” Phil reached for his boyfriend's arm, which Dan immediately pushed away.

 

“Stop!” He shouted. “Just stop, I'm fine. I'll be back before dinner.” He placed a kiss to Phil's cheek before heading out the door. 

 

He didn't make it back before dinner. He didn't make it back for their eight o'clock program. He didn't make it back for bedtime. It wasn't until the very middle of the summer night that Phil heard an angry slam on their door that jolted him awake. 

 

“I am,” Came Dan's voice, followed by a hiccup. “drunk and angry and I just want to go to bed.” His words had a heavy slur to him and he fumbled in his step. Phil blinked at his silhouette and patted the empty bed next to him, which Dan immediately flopped onto and started snoring. 

 

The next morning, they woke up tangled together, hugging tightly. They made breakfast, pancakes with extra syrup. They danced in their kitchen and shared a passionate kiss, this time kinder and more loving than the one before. 

 

After breakfast, Phil was lead to the bedroom, where he ended up sitting in Dan's lap, his fingers in his boyfriend's hair and their lips pressed together. 

 

“You have no idea how much I adore you.” Dan mumbled, rolling his hips up to meet Phil's. 

 

“Why don't you show me?” Phil whispered and proceeded to press a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss to Dan's jaw. They laid back so that he was on top of Dan, straddling his waist. They ground their hips together, hearing each other's quiet moans of affection and pleasure. Dan's hands rested on Phil's hips, playing with the hem of his cotton pajama shirt. He peppered kisses along Phil's collarbone and bit down lightly. Phil let out a sigh and pressed his body into him more. The room felt unbearably warm, especially for the summer. 

 

“Do you want to ride me, baby?” Dan asked, his voice breathy and low. Phil groaned and buried his face in the crook of his boyfriend's neck. 

 

“So much.” He muttered, placing a kiss there. Dan laughed and pulled him closer. “I want your cock so badly,” Phil said, his face turning red. “I want you inside me.” It was soon that cloths were discarded, completely forgotten, and Phil got his wish.

 

When it was over and they were laying together, cuddled up next to each other and naked, Dan decided to light a cigarette. It was calm, it was peaceful, it was what they knew the could never have out in the real world. But there, in their own little bed in their own little room, it was exactly what they needed. 

 

 


	18. Bundle of Joy

There's this certain maternal connection that comes with carrying a child in ones womb for nine or so months. Mother's have a protective instinct over their children from the very start of their pregnancy, a need to hold and cherish this little bundle of love and innocence, to keep it warm and safe from the monsters of the outside world. To look into a child's face and say to yourself  _ “Look what I made!” _ is a wonderful that Dan knows he'll never get to expirience. 

That's how it works with two guys, after all. For them, starting a family isn't a happy surprise, it's not something that can begin with an act as primitive and basic as sex. It can't be sprung on someone without preparation, because that's just not how biology works. It's a ridiculous amount of effort, of constant rejections from adoption agencies, claiming that he and his partner are “unfit parents” and would be “potentionally subjecting a child to a lifetime of bullying because they have two dads.” It's heart break and frustration and a lot of yelling at rich old white people who are too bigoted to understand that these children just want homes. And sometimes Dan wishes he had ended up with a woman in the first place. Having a family would be a lot easier that way.

But Phil is so kind and patient, and eventually, they find a child. A sweet little baby girl from an orphanage in Berlin. She hadn't had a name when they found her, but she had gorgeous blue eyes that sparkled like the queen's, so she was dubbed “Elizabeth.” Phil insisted that they call her a unique nickname because she was such a unique little girl. For just a little while, she was Bethie, but the name didn't stick. It was too childish. They tried Liz, then Lizzy shortly after, but both felt too American. It was Eliza that stuck. The name Eliza Howlter was the perfect balance of unique and regal. And it's not until two months that they decide on her name, when Dan realizes his situation.

 

“So, parenting,” He starts at the breakfast table one morning as Phil reads the newspaper and sips his cup of coffee, like a middle aged husband in a sitcom. “That's a thing we're doing.” Eliza squirms in her high chair, letting out garbled baby giberish. He blue eyes sparkle in the same way as Phil's. She's so beautiful and Dan can't comprehend how lucky they are to have her.

 

“I know.” Phil says, lifting his mug to his lips, his eyes crinkling in a smile. “This is weird.” Eliza lets out a wail and they both jerk their heads toward her. She's upset, clearly, as discomfort is written all over her face. It's Phil who stands up first, lifting her out of her high chair and into his arms. “She shat herself.” He proclaims, holding her a bit of ways away from him. Dan manages to laugh.

 

“What a loser.” He says, sarcastically, which makes Phil grin, his tongue poking between his teeth. He goes to change her and Dan makes pancakes for them.

 

As their daughter grows older, Dan realizes how much he's missed out on. He's a boy, he knows, and as much as internet fanfiction likes to argue about this, mpreg doesn't exist. But still, he wishes he could look at his daughter, now just over one year old, and think  _ “Look what I made!” _ He loves her, and he loves his husband and his family more than anything, but lately, the thought has been constantly nagging at him that Eliza isn't his. Her parents are somewhere in Germany, living their lives without her. He can't look at her face, her beautiful blonde curls, without thinking  _ “She's someone elses daughter and I took her away from them.” _ The feeling never really goes away. 

 

When Eliza is five and bright and loud, is when Dan is happy again. Truly satisfied with his life and his choices. He loves his daughter, his husband, his apartment in London. He loves it all. It's the morning of the first day of primary school and his daughter is jumping off the walls. They're snuggled together in bed, Phil with his arms around Dan and his lips on the back of his husband's neck, when she comes running excitedly into their room.

 

“Daddy's!” She shouts, jumping onto the bed with them. She's humming with the energy a young child should have and it makes Dan happy. He yawns and pulls Eliza into a hug, placing a kiss to the top of her head. Phil yawns sleepily and burries his nose in Dan's shoulder. 

 

“Good morning.” He mumbles and Eliza jumps on top of him.

 

“Wake up, Daddy!” She whines as she shakes his shoulder. Phil laughs detaches himself from Dan to pull their daughter into a big bear hug. He kisses her forehead and she squeals in delight. “Guess what day it is!” She says, everything about her voice full of child like delight and wonderment. Dan turns over to snuggle up to the both of them.

 

“What's today?” He asks and her smile is brighter than any star.

 

“It's the first day of school!” She practically screeches in excitement. “So you have to wake _up!_ ” Dan fakes a yawn and sits up, his daughter perched on his lap. 

 

“Aren't you old enough to drive yourself to school?” He jokes and she scowls at him. They make pancakes for breakfast since it's such a special day, but Phil ends up burning most of them. Eliza gets the only good ones. She comes hom from school happier than ever.

 

It's in her fourth year that she runs into her first bit of trouble. She's eight now, her hair longer and thicker and her eyes having lost the smallest bit of their light. Dan's driving her home from school when he notices that she's pouting in the backseat.

 

“What's wrong?” He asks her, and she simply turns her head to the side. After a moment, she speaks.

 

“A mean boy said a mean thing about you and Daddy.” She says and Dan let's out a heavy sigh. He's not surprised, not in the least, because eight years old is the time kids start developing prejudice.

 

“What did he say?” Dan asks and Eliza stares at him, wide eyed in the review mirror.

 

“He,” She hesitates, clearly uncomfortable with the word, whatever it is. “He came up to me on the playground and asked me if it was true,” She pauses to swallow. “And I asked him what he meant and he said 'Is it true that you have two dads?' and I said that it was and he laughed at me and then he called you and Daddy f....” Her voice trails off, so Dan helps her.

 

“Fairy's?” He asks, to which Eliza shakes her head. “Faggots?” He offers and she nods vicariously. Dan sighs again. “This is going to happen sometimes.” He says, to which Eliza looks shocked. “People can be really mean sometimes, but remember that it doesn't mean anything.”

 

When she's thirteen and pretty, she starts asking questions about sex and relationships. Mostly sex.

 

“Dad,” She asks as they're making dinner together. She looks nervous and awkward and Dan can guess what's coming. “When did you lose your virginity?” He almost laughs because it's the exact same question his thirteen year old subscribers used to ask.

 

“That depends, do you mean with a boy or a girl?” He had decided a long time ago that sex was different with boys and girls, so he considered it to be losing his virginity with both. Eliza blushes bright red.

 

“u-um,” She stammers, probably taken aback by how casual Dan can speak of this. “Both, I guess.”

 

“I was sixteen and drunk at a party. It was with a girl called Ann and she was pretty and nice and thought I was funny. I don't remember much, considering it was ages ago and I wasn't sober, but I do know we weren't dating at the time and we never dated after.” Eliza nodded, staring down at the chopped vegetables below her.

 

“And with a boy?” She asks. Dan smiles, his eyes crinkling.

 

“I was eighteen and it was with your father after filming our first ' _Phil is Not on Fire.'_ I was ridiculously awkward since, at the time, it felt like I was shagging a celebrity.” Eliza snorts and scraps the vegetables into a salad bowl. 

 

“Gross.” She says and exaggerates a shutter. Dan shrugs.

 

“You asked.”

 

When she's eighteen, she goes to university in America, New York specifically, to study music and drama and pursue a career in musical theater. Dan cries as Phil holds him. It's the hardest day of his life, so far.

 

When she's twenty one and more grown up then ever, she calls from New York. It's Dan who answers.

 

“Dad,” She says, sounding nervous and awkward, like a teenager. “Can I ask you something?” It's late and he should really be in bed, but his daughter needs him, so he says a quiet “yes” and waits for her awkward response. “When did you realize that you..... weren't straight?” He snorts because he never expected his daughter to call him at one in the morning because she was having a sexuality crisis.

 

“I think I was fourteen and I was dared to kiss another boy at a party. Why?” He can hear the muffling in the background, a sound of another female voice.

 

“Do you remember a month ago when you and dad flew down to see me preform in an off-Broadway production of _The Addams Family Musical_?” He does. He remembers quite clearly, as a matter of fact, being oh so proud that his daughter had managed to make it as an actress and be in an actual live, paying, production before even graduating from university.

 

“I remember. You were the love interest's mother.” He says.

 

“Alice Beineke.” She corrects. “Anyway, do you recall what the girl who played Wednesday looked like?” He does, as a matter of fact. She was a pretty girl, but she had a very young looking face. Of course, maybe Dan was just too old.

 

“I recall.”

 

“I slept with her.”

 

There's a moment of Dan's stunned silence based on that bomb. He shouldn't be so surprised by this, he should be telling Eliza how he supports her no matter what, ect. Ect., but the only thing that manages to come out of his mouth is

 

“How old is she?”

 

“Nineteen.”

 

“Remind me of her name again?”

 

“Madison.”

 

A year later, Eliza and Madison get married in New York. Phil cries. Dan does not.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't make their daughter straight, I just couldn't.


	19. Phone Calls at 2 am

When Phil went away to Florida, Dan never predicted he would miss him this much. It started out okay. The first couple of days were as if nothing had ever happened. He went about his day as usual, which was roughly eight and a half hours of mindlessly scrolling through tumblr and trying to completely avoid his responsibilities. It was fine. But two weeks is a long time and even though he had spent that much time away from Phil before, it felt different this time. There was a seemingly aching feeling in his chest. He wanted to hold Phil, to kiss him and feel his warm body pressed against his. He just wanted someone to be next to him. 

Around the time the hands of the clock struck two in the morning, he couldn't take it anymore. He was tired of pacing his room and constantly checking his phone to see if Phil had called or texted him. 

 

_It's about ten o'clock in the morning there. He'll be up_ , Dan thought to himself, trying to justify calling Phil first. Fianlly, he worked up the courage to punch in his boyfriend's number. He picked up after the first two rings. 

 

“Shouldn't you be sleeping?” Phil asked immediately. Dan scoffed and crossed his arms, forgetting that his boyfriend couldn't see the action. 

 

“It's hard to sleep when you're having and existential crisis, Phil, you wouldn't understand.” He paused for a moment, listening to his boyfriend's quiet laugh from the other line. “Besides, I wanted to talk to you. Two weeks is a hell of a long time.” The laughter was cut off and instead met with a sigh. “I miss you, you know.” Dan admitted. 

 

“I know,” Phil said, his tone getting more somber. “I'll be home in just a few more weeks.” 

 

“Two, to be exact.” Dan mumbled, not really sure if his sarcasm was intentionally at this point. Phil scoffed. 

 

“But who's counting.” He joked back, making Dan grin. 

 

“I want you here so fucking bad.” Dan said. “I just want to cuddle you and kiss you and hold you.” 

 

“I know, you have no idea how much I miss you, but I can't exactly be home right now.” Dan sighed and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. 

 

“I love you.”

 

“I love you, too.” 

 


	20. Bootleg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: There are a few homophobic slurs

Dan was never one for parties. There was something about a sea of people chatting away and pretending as though they didn't have a care in the world that never managed to peak his interest. He always saw dancing away ones problems as pushing them to the back of your mind and refusing to talk about them. However, he did like drinking, and with that pesky prohibition bullshit around, a party was the only way for him to obtain alcohol. So he went to the speakeasys that had it all -the music, the parties, the people, and most importantly, the drinks. He sat at the bar with his liquor in his hands, scanning the crowd, with no one in particular catching his eye. 

 

“It's awful, isn't it?” said a male voice from the right of him. Dan blinked and turned his gaze to face the man behind the voice. He was roughly Dan's height, if only a bit shorter, with black hair and intense blue eyes. He looked to be about Dan's age, too, if only a year or so older. 

 

“Excuse me?” He asked and the man's gaze went back to the crowd. He looked to be contemplating, as if he was coming up with something absolutely obscure to say. 

 

“I just said it's awful.” He still didn't meet Dan's eye, which only intruiged the him more. Dan stared at him, unable to pull his focus away from the man standing to the side of him. He was pretty, Dan had to admit, which only seemed to make him fel nervous. He didn't want to get too flirty with this guy and scare him off. He most certainly didn't want to be called any rude names. He just wanted to get drunk off his ass. “It's awful that people have to hide their fun. That we have to be so secretive just to avoid arrest. It would be amazing if it weren't so incredibley awful.” Finally, the man tore his gaze away from the crowd and locked eyes with Dan. He extended his hand to shake, which Dan took. “Philip Lester,” He said. “And before you ask, I used to work on wallstreet, but it was awful, so I'm currently inbetween jobs.” 

 

“Daniel Howell.” Dan said. “I am exceptionally uninteresting.” Phil scoffed and brought his drink to his lips -a glass of amber liquid that he seemed to sip thoughtfully. 

 

“I don't believe in boring people. Everyone has a story to tell. Everyone's a little bit different.” Dan was transfixed with this man, who was too profound for the world they lived in. 

 

“Are you always this out going?” Dan asked and Phil grinned. 

 

“Most certainly not. I get philisophical when I drink. You won't hear anything particularly profound from sober me.” He downed the last of his drink, then proceeded to order another one. “Can I ask you a serious question?” He said after a moment of quiet. Dan nodded. “I'm so blackout drunk that I don't remember where I am. What state is this?” Dan couldn't help but let out a laugh. 

 

“Chicago, Illinois. Currently in a speakesy in Naperville.” Phil nodded and took another sip of his drink. 

 

“I guess it would be a good idea to slow down, then.” He said, setting the half finished beverage on the bar counter. After a moment, Dan realized Phil was staring at him. 

 

“What?” He asked and watched as the corners of Phil's lips tilted up. 

 

“You're just pretty is all.” He said, making Dan's face heat up. He tried to cover up his embarrassment with a scoff and a joke. 

 

“What are you? A faggot?” _Oh, like you're not, Howell_. 

 

Phil smiled and leaned against the counter. “And what if I was?” He asked, which seemed to surprise Dan quite a lot. 

 

“I don't have any problems with queers.” He said finally. “So I s'pose I wouldn't particularly care if you were one.” _Shut up, Dan, you'd love it. Look at how pretty he is._

 

“I do happen to be drunk enough to come out to a total stranger, so yes, I am a homosexual.” Dan stood by him completely dumbfounded for a moment, unable to comprehend what this total _stranger_ was telling him. Another gay man. One who thought Dan was pretty. This was a miricle. 

 

“Can I let you in on a secret?” Dan asked and Phil leaned in closer to him. When Dan spoke again, his voice had dropped to a whisper. “So am I.” There was a grin and a laugh as Phil opted to take another sip of his drink. 

 

“There really aren't many of us, are there?” He asked, looking at Dan pointedly. He smirked and shook his head. “How would you like a cigarette?” Phil reached into his front jacket pocket and pulled out a pack of _Lucky Strikes_. He held them out to Dan, who took one graciously. He placed it between his teeth and allowed Phil to light it for him. 

 

“People like us, we're not very well liked.” Dan said after a moment. He let the cigarette smoke travel into his lungs, let it burn it troat and puff out of his nostrils. “People think we're weird, and then there's that pesky bible getting in our way.” 

 

“It amazing, there are books wirtten about men cheating on their wives, films filled with nothing but adultary, and yet if two men hold hands in public, it's the most sinful thing anyone can think of.” Dan smirked and took another drag from his cigarette. 

 

“They can understand cheating, but they can't understand us fags. It's certainly something.” They were quiet for a moment, the both of them lost in thought, contemplating the great ironies of the world. It was Phil who spoke again. 

 

“May I ask you a question?” He asked before putting a new cigarette between his lips. 

 

“It depends on if I'm drunk enough to answer.” Dan shot back, making Phil laugh out loud. 

 

“May I kiss you?” Dan felt his cheeks heat up and he leaned closer to the other man, dropping his voice to whisper in his ear. 

 

“Actually, my appartment isn't too far from here. How would you like to go home with me?” It was bold, but he was too intoxicated to care and it wasn't often that he met someone like him. Phil grin, tongue poking between his teeth. 

 

“I think I'd love that.” 

 

 

 


	21. Right Now, We're Alright

Right now, They're all right. Youtube fame is lovely, to them both. They love the videos. They love their friendship. They love each other, but in a platonic sort of way, because they're friends. Just two heterosexual British boys making silly videos for the internet.

 

They're just friends.

 

Or are they?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are the drabbles I'm considering turning into full stories  
> 1\. Blood Stains on the Carpet  
> 2\. Cigarettes and Redvines  
> 3\. Coney Island in the Summer  
> if you want full, chaptered stories for any of these or any other Au you liked, let me know.


End file.
